


Therapy for a Mending Heart

by just_desserts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, College Student Stiles, Flashbacks, M/M, Multi, Return to Beacon Hills, Stiles Leaves Beacon Hills, Wakes & Funerals, sterek, sterek. - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-03 02:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6592861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_desserts/pseuds/just_desserts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An urgent call and a message from his dad telling him to come home to Beacon Hills from USC causes Stiles to not hesitate packing his things, panic forming his every move as he makes his way back to his hometown. When he gets there, memories of his mother and her passing plague him and it doesn't help when he feels like he has nothing to hold onto as reality parallels the past.<br/>Maybe talking with strangers about his problems in group therapy wouldn't be such a bad thing, Scott tells him. Especially when one of those strangers is a gorgeous, green-eyed man named Derek.</p><p>AU where there are no werewolves or any Supernatural, Stiles is in a dark place after his father passes away, and Derek is right there with him as the anniversary of the house fire taunts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therapy for a Mending Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea after reading Bloodsport (Brothers), which is super angsty and feelsy and it completely did stuff to me that I would rather not have happen again. I realized I hasn't written anything that was sad in awhile so I figured I'd make you all cry (or attempt to at the very least) and came up with this fic idea. Hope you like it and that my summary wasn't misleading.  
> Also, this first chapter is really choppy and while you probably will hate it, it's written that way to show how Stiles feels like he's losing a grip on everything in his life.  
> Let me know what you think in the comments! I haven't decided if I'll do Derek's POV throughout yet so tell me if that's something you want or not (I can start to squeeze it into chapters from here on out).  
> *My beta is the lovely Emmie*

He gets the call at five in the morning, four hours before his first class of the day. There's something in his gut that twists with a dull pain and Stiles knows calls this early can never be good, whether that means it's a misdial or an urgent one. He knows it never can be anything but those two options. Not at this hour.

When his phone alerts him that the caller left a voicemail in their wake instead of hanging up like a normal person would when they get the wrong number, he clenches his eyes shut. Fingers twine into his pillow in a frantic gesture to hold onto something for an anchor, anything at all, the sheets wrapping around his bent legs. Because it's all too familiar; the early phone call, the message, rushing to the hospital and it already being too late. 

But he picks up the phone anyway, eyes still closed and dials his voicemail, hoping, daring himself to be wrong. The voice on the other end startles him but part of Stiles isn't really surprised by the message. That part is just terrified by it.

"Hey Stiles, it's... your dad." His father says, voice strained like he's on the verge of tears, like he's in pain and Stiles can't handle that because it does something to him, beating something inside him down. "I know it's early, and you know I wouldn't call if it wasn't an emergency." He pauses, taking a shaky breath and he can picture how the Sheriff's face is: eyes closed, eyebrows bunched down, and hand in his hair to distract himself from the blow he has to deliver. "I wouldn't call if it wasn't..." He hears his dad cut off, voices loud in the background until a sob crackles through the line and Stiles finally understands that his dad is crying. Crying like he did when they found out his mother's diagnosis and that there wasn't anything to be done but wait for her to die. "I just need you to be here, son." He hears, pressing the phone closer to his ear as the whisper fades into a stretch of silence that rings deafeningly. "Know I love you, Stiles."

The call ends with a sharp click and he flinches, his eyes slamming closed again as he lays there in the dark, his heart beating a heavy staccato that distracts him from the anguish building up in his chest.

And Stiles somehow knows that something is dreadfully, irreversibly wrong with his father.

 

***

 

He wishes his Jeep would drive faster. He's already gunning it, his foot planted on the gas as the vehicle shoots forward, weaving in and out of the early morning highway traffic on CA-60 at a speed that scares even him. But it still isn't good enough, not when Stiles needs to be there now.

He'd left a message for his roommate on their door, note clipped at eye level so even that blockhead can't miss it, telling him everything. Stiles wasn't sure when he'd be back to USC, if ever.

Feeling his hand reach into his pocket, he presses his dad's name for the tenth time that morning only to get voicemail. Again. He leaves a hurried message, feeling the tears streak down his face as he chokes out an "I love you" before tossing his phone onto the passenger seat.

Jaw clenched, he jabs his finger on the radio to hear something, anything but that damned voicemail still saved on his phone from two hours before. But it doesn't help.

The panic doesn't subside and neither do the tears.

 

***

 

Two days later, the hospital bed is empty, the room smelling of disinfectant and clean sheets. There are no more flowers, no daisies that he and his father had smiled tearily about, remembering his mother and how only years before they had been in the same predicament.

Only this time, there's no one there to rub his back as he cries himself to the point of exhaustion in a plastic chair in the corner.

He calls Scott when he finally gets outside into his car, who says he should come over, says that it's all okay, even though it most certainly isn't. He just hasn't been able to experience the kind of loss Stiles has.

When he gets to the door, he can barely see and his lips wobble as a sob tears from his chest. There are arms there to hold him, a deep, soft, soothing voice telling him that he is loved, deeply loved and that it will all be okay. A hand gently strokes his floppy hair that hangs in his tear-stained eyes away from his face, murmuring things into his hair he cannot hear over the pounding in his ears.

And for a few moments, Stiles believes his friend.

 

***

12 years earlier...

'The room feels cold', he thinks to himself, his arms in front of him, his hands wringing themselves together in a nervous fit. The panic swelling in his chest hasn't stopped for two straight weeks now and it's slowly getting worse. To the point where he doesn't know if he can catch his breathe anymore.

There's someone in front of him again, looking at his father with a deep frown as if it were etched there just for these few painful hours of grieving. Stiles thinks that maybe his dad's face will look like that forever. He knows his will.

He looks back at the casket again, sees his mother's powdered face, looking too pale and too tired to be hers. Her eyes are closed, mouth set, hands crossed as she lays on her back. As if she were sleeping.

He walks over, seeing his body move forward but not really feeling it until he's right next to her, a foot away. His eyebrows knit together and suddenly there's a wild thrash in Stile's chest as he stares at her, his heart breaking slowly all over again.

'She was young, so young,' people say throughout the course of the day, and he can't help but think 'she still is.'

 

***

 

"How are you holding up, Stiles?"

His eyes fly open, his head pounding as he fists the black slacks he's wearing in his clenched hands, his suit jacket suddenly feeling constricting. The chair beneath him is large and wooden, the legs creaking as he leans forward to put his face in his hands.

"I've been better," he mumbles, his arms jerking slightly and his breathing coming out shakily.

A few moments pass before he hears something being dragged in front of him, someone sitting and their hand touching his shoulder gently. Stiles doesn't lurch back, but clenches his eyes shut tighter from the spinning room.

"Have you taken your Adderal in the last couple of days?"

Scott; always the person to look out for him when he needs him most.

"Jesus, no. What are you, a mother now?" He jokes, hearing the half-hearted smile in his own voice as he looks up, eyes focusing on his best friend who looks back at him with a smile.

Scott shrugs. "Just wouldn't want to give you a double dose if you took it this morning," he says before reaching his hand out, two smooth pills in the palm and a glass of water held in the other.

"Not that that would be a bad thing, I've got enough hyperactive behavior to warrant it-" Stiles mutters, gently tossing the pills back into his mouth and swallowing them back with a few sips from the glass. He sets it down and flashes Scott a stupid grin. "Thanks, Scottie boy. Don't know what I'd do without you,"

Scott for his part just shrugs again and smiles back just as stupidly, his brown eyes full of emotion, a mix of sadness and relief. Stiles looks away, trying not to feel the same as he glances up at the grandfather clock across the funeral home room and jumping up from his chair.

"How the hell is it already two? Oh my god, people are probably wondering where the fuck I am-" he stammers, riling himself up all over again from a half hour ago when the second panic attack of the day had seized him.

Scott stops him with a hand on his chest. "And so what if they are? In fact, fuck them if the are, Stiles. This isn't their day, this isn't about them."

Stiles widens his eyes a moment before feeling wetness pool in the corners of them. Swallowing, he inhales through his nose before nodding his head. "I know." he pauses, scuffs his shoe on the ugly carpeting. "It's for dad."

Scott must see the rawness that suddenly embodies him because his arms wrap around Stiles in a tight embrace that might last only seconds but feels more like minutes.

A small, quiet throat clear from the door way causes them to break apart, looking over in the direction of the noise. It's Allison, with brown flowing locks and a gorgeously tapered black dress and flats. She flashes Stiles a small smile as they come over to her, embracing again as they'd done when the couple had arrived to help him get set up.

"I just wanted to come check up on my boys," she whispers to him, and he has to swallow the lump forming deep in his throat, threatening to choke him with how nauseating the emotions are that are rising up.

"We're doing.." He trails off, clears his throat so he doesn't sound as choked up as he feels. "Well, managing anyway. Just coming back out to liven up all these people out here," Stiles says weakly, his normal humor falling flat with the slight wobble in his voice when he finishes.

Scott and Allison just smile, both pretending like they don't notice and Stiles wants to cry at how grateful he is to the married couple, thank them for how much they've done for him in this past week alone. But he can somehow see in their expressions that they know he is. He turns away, a ghost of a smile shadowing his face as he walks out to the main parlor area, hearing them follow.

There's more people than he's expecting, which makes him smile. His dad deserved the whole fucking town to be here, celebrating his memory, and it seems that they've all come out to do just that. He shakes countless hands and forgets to smile after awhile, to thank people, because the heat and noise are really getting to him, but he doesn't let on. He fakes it because that's all you can do. He fakes it because it hurts too much and it's the only way he knows how to mask the pain.

With only a few minutes left until they leave for the cemetery, next to where his mom is already buried, he sees three very familiar faces pop up in front of him.

"Stiles!" Lydia says in an overly cheerful voice that isn't hers, beaming as she hugs him tightly. Green eyes shine back at him, face framed by that gorgeous strawberry blonde hair. Her arms are still so thin, her waist just as small and her long fingers run small, comforting circles into his back. She is virtually unchanged by time, still his precious Lydia. He feels a real smile flit onto his face, the first one in hours, as he pulls back. "Oh my god, it's been too long. I've missed you,"

Lydia smiles back when he replies. "I missed you too, Lyds. Long time, I'll give you that. Mostly my fault with school, though,"

She tsks in disapproval, her eyes haunting in their sudden sadness. "Don't do that, don't beat yourself up."

His gaze focuses just past her to the two men, trying to not take her comment to heart because it's all he's been doing these past seconds, minutes, hours, days. "Danny?"

Danny smiles, his dark hair combed back, brown eyes twinkling sadly, giving a small wave but Stiles is having none of that. He wraps him into a quick, tight hug until he feels himself laugh. "God, I thought after that amazing graduation speech from you that you'd easily be in the Senate by now and we'd never see you again!"

Danny lightly punches his arm and chuckles. "Nah, too much local government shit to clean up here first."

Stiles feels his smile fade to something somber. "Yeah, my dad said the same thing once."

There's a small beat where a pin drop could be heard in the half empty room.

"You're dad was a wise man, Stiles."

There's a heavy thickness that settles around them now before the fifth member of their small group pipes up, breaking the density of the situation.

"I don't even get a 'hey'? See how I peg, Stilinski-"

Stile's eyes flit up to Jackson who looks grotesquely uncomfortable, completely out of his element, but who is so desperately trying to lighten the mood. Stiles suddenly likes him in that moment, despite all the fuck he's pulled in the past.

He hasn't changed much in appearance, his blonde hair still long enough to be gelled up, his eyes still bright blue. Stiles notices that Jackson's hand is intertwined with Lydia's and he smiles despite himself.

"God, sorry the attention isn't on you, Jackson," Scott says next to him and Stiles laughs.

Jackson himself chuckles, surprising all of them. "Sorry, dick move,"

Lydia smirks and leans up on tippy toes to kiss his cheek lightly.

Stiles pushes down the jealousy building in his stomach, that there isn't someone like that for him, isn't someone who can hold his hand, kiss his cheek, hold him when he cries later tonight. He hasn't met anyone at school yet in his three years there, or at least no one that's lasted past the second date.

He's so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost misses the movement behind Lydia's head from across the room. There aren't many people left that are roaming about, and not many are as young as the man he sees. The conversation around him continues as his eyes skim over the figure standing by the pictures, his profile backlit from the doors.

He can make out dark hair, lightly tanned skin, a broad frame with large shoulders and nice figure under the black coat and pants. The man suddenly turns, glancing over at their group, green eyes practically twinkling as they look at Stiles. His chin and jaw are dusted with five o'clock shadow, his nose round and his eyebrows dark and thick. His features are gorgeously daunting when Stiles compares himself to this stranger and his gaze is no less beautiful. Almost... sad.

He feels his lips part slightly and his eyebrows pinch in fascination as the man blinks, flashing a small closed lip smile before turning and leaving with no exchange or other acknowledgement.

"Stiles?"

Allison's voice brings him back to the conversation around him which has apparently stopped. He blinks and sees his friends looking at him perplexed.

"What?" He asks, vaguely aware he wasn't paying attention but not caring. His thoughts are still preoccupied with the man who was standing by the picture boards.

"Danny asked you how school was going, sweetie," Lydia says, her lips upturned in a small smile that she only uses when she's pitying someone. He would know that look anywhere because he's been on the receiving end on multiple occasions.

Stiles doesn't want anyone's pity now.

He shrugs. "Not too bad. My roommate's really weird, which isn't too big of a shocker considering he got stuck with me." His voice sounds distant, his eyes still skimming the area beyond their heads, still trying to catch a glimpse of the stranger.

Danny smirks and Jackson laughs next to him. "Fair enough answer,"

The conversation dwindles when someone comes to inform Stiles they'll be preparing to load the casket in a few minutes into the hearse. He nods solemnly, feeling that familiar feeling of guilt and anguish rise up in his throat that he swallows to push down harshly. Now is not the time to cry.

Scott glances at Allison who nods her head before she starts to talk with Lydia and Jackson, Danny following the three of them outside.

Stiles turns to Scott, a curious look on his face before his friend shrugs, a huge grin breaking across his face. "I figured you'd call shotgun and my car is a two seater."

Stiles scoffs good naturedly as Scott slings an arm over his shoulder, a smug grin on his face.

"Since when do you have a two seater?"

"A red corvette to be precise-"

Stiles places a hand over his heart, rolling his eyes and slumping slightly as if he'd been shot. "You're killing me here,"

"Well it definitely is something to be jealous over." Scott says, his face screaming that he isn't sorry he's gloating.

In that moment, Stiles is extremely grateful that his friend is trying to divert his attention, even if it's doing nothing to relieve the pounding ache in his chest.

He thinks of what his dad would say, that he's lucky to have a friend like Scott right now to take care of him, be there for him at a time like this. He thinks of his dad's face, how he would light up and turn away with that slightly watery twinkle in his eyes that means he's on the verge of tears but composing himself for Stile's sake. Always Stile's sake.

He blinks, bringing himself back to the present, feeling that his face is lax again, the smile gone. Scott is looking at him concerned but he shrugs him off with a sarcastic comment that doesn't ease either of their frayed nerves.

But sarcasm is his only defense at a time like this.


End file.
